


Atonement

by NiCad



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9528284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiCad/pseuds/NiCad
Summary: Springer recalls his lost past and deals with the hard truths of the present. In-between the lines of Sins of the Wreckers.





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Forged](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888308) by [NiCad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiCad/pseuds/NiCad). 



> Waaayy back in Spotlight Kup, Prowl alludes to a shady portion of Springer's past, to which Springer responded defensively. I'm not sure if the authors meant to link that up to what happened in Sins of the Wreckers, but I thought it'd be nifty to explore that.
> 
> Update 2/23/2017: I decided to go ahead and insert the short snippet I posted about a year ago (Forged) in Chapter 2 where it belongs. It may look familiar to a few folks. I also switched in a more appropriate song.

_Favored son_  
_Fence in your heart_  
_Savored son_  
_Sins forgotten_

Dead Can Dance, [Rakim](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kq59rEVWQNI)

* * *

He caught his reflection in the darkened glass of the observation deck and paused.

His face.

He normally wasn’t one for vanity. He’d polish up when it was appropriate – recruiting, formal occasions, and the like. Otherwise, as long as things were more-or-less where they were supposed to be, he didn’t much care what he looked like.

Given the fact that his face had parted company with the rest of his head for the better part of a week before getting reattached, with half a decade passing before he finally woke up from the whole ordeal, he decided he could forgive himself a brief moment of self-reflection.

He first ran a hand along the cowling on the right side of his helm, lightly touching the louver covering the front, reassuring himself that the assembly was firm. Satisfied with that, he poked lightly at the structural ridges below his optics, noting how the malleable skin of his face seemed to pull more sharply over them now, casting the barest of shadows in the hollows above his jaws. He could find no real error in the reconstruction, no scars or tell-tale lines of grafting. But the difference was still there.

It was the face of someone who’d gone to hell, looked the devil himself in the eye, and come back with half of his soul scooped out of his mind.

Springer could deny it no longer. He had aged considerably in the five years he’d missed.

His hand dropped to his chest, where a shallow but long scrape ran diagonally from his left shoulder to the right side of his midsection. All of the damage – all of the _physical_ damage – from G-9 had been fixed. This must have happened after that.

Right on cue, Kup came down the hallway, datapad in hand. “Hubcap put that dossier that you asked for on Arcee together.” He held it out to Springer. “Frankly, all you need to know is that she used to be Prowl’s lackey and every screw holding her together is loose. You’ll get to see for yourself when we hit Earth in about 3 more hours.”

Springer took the datapad. “Thanks for the Executive Summary.” He pointed to the scrape on his chest. “Any idea where this came from?”

Kup sighed. “Remember Roadbuster’s sparkeater weapon?”

The color drained from Springer’s face. “He didn’t…”

“Oh, Primus, no. Whirl did. Roadbuster caught him in the act and vetoed him out.”

Springer breathed a sigh of relief. “That makes a lot more sense.”

“It… does?”

“Whirl’s wishes in his end-of-life statement are very clear when it comes to persistent vegetative states. The whole body-without-a-spark thing disturbs him on a profound level.”

Kup considered. “Anything to do with the empurata stuff?”

“That’s my assumption. What happened to him?”

“Last I knew, he wound up on Rodimus’s crew searching for the Knights of Cybertron,” Kup said.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Anyway, I gotta’ hand it you ya’, kid. One of your own tries to euthanize you, and you ask if he’s ok? That’s leadership.”

Springer gave him a tired smile. “I’m sure he meant it in the nicest way possible.”

* * *

Ostaros didn’t know much, but he knew two things with a great and un-adulterated purity. The first was that he was created by a terrible, terrible person. The second was that he wanted to escape this place very, very much.

These realizations had been slow to dawn, given the isolation Ostaros endured. Life, even life adapted to solitude, can only handle so much of it. But all Ostaros ever knew for the longest time was the cackling of his creator, and for the longest time, he did not realize that life could be any different.

And then the black and white one arrived.

His creator called him Prowl.

And Prowl called his creator Mesothulas.

Ostaros knew he was created by Mesothulas, was at first comforted by the way his creator constantly doted on him. At that time, he only knew one thing. That his creator cared for him very much. Fed him when he was hungry. Taught him how to adjust his thermostats when he was too hot or too cold. Showed him how to calibrate his sensors for various electromagnetic wavelengths to illuminate the darkness and dim the blinding light. Fulfillment. Warmth. Light.

Comfort.

His creator was very eager to introduce Prowl to him.

“I want to show you something _wonderful_ ,” he had said, wringing his hands together. “I want to show you what I made.”

Prowl had looked at Ostaros with cool regard. “This is your prototype?”

“Prototype!” Mesothulas spat. “This is my _firstborn!_ This is new life! Scan him with everything you have. See if you can detect that he is anything other than genuine.”

Prowl tipped his head to the side for a moment. Ostaros copied the gesture. “He radiates just like any other protoform.” He raised his right hand to wave and Ostaros raised his left to do the same. “Still has the protoform mimic reflex.” Prowl did his best to suppress a frown in order to study the stupid half-smile also characteristic of freshly forged sparks, empty of experience, eager to soak up everything around them only because they did not yet know the horrors of the world they were born into, did not yet know the terrors they were doomed to endure and become. “I thought you were working on spark extraction?”

“Oh, I am, I am! Ostaros is, in fact, the first step of the process. Before I can learn how to safely extract a spark from a body, I must first learn how a spark operates and animates one. What better way to learn than to build one from scratch? Look at him! Artificial life! Completely synthetic, but completely indistinguishable from forged!”

“What are you going to do with him?”

Mesothulas gave Prowl a perplexed look. “Raise him, of course. Teach him! Fill him up! He is the very essence of perfection and potential. Can you not feel the raw power of that spark? Whatever he will become, he will devote himself to the utmost. Whatever he will do, he will throw every ounce of his will behind it.” Mesothulas nearly danced with glee, hands still clasped together at his chest. “I can hardly stand to wait to see how he will turn out!”

Prowl spared Ostaros one final, wary look, then turned back to Mesothulas. “We need to discuss those stasis bullets…”

Ostaros watched as they walked away. He didn’t know much, but he did have a fully functioning vocabulary. He didn’t know much, but he did know a lot more than he did just minutes earlier.

He knew he was synthetic.

He knew he was fake.

He knew he was a stepping stone to something very, very terrible.

For the first time, he knew fear.

He heard all of the conversations between Prowl and his creator over the course of time. He learned a great deal.

He learned about punishment and strategy and politics and betrayal and war.

He learned there was a whole other world outside of his birthplace. He learned about the impenetrable radiation moat that separated him from it. He learned Prowl could cross it safely with the monstrous-looking armor. Armor that merely reflected the monster who wore it and the monster who designed it.

He maintained the stupid half-smile, faking. Faking ignorance. Faking loyalty. Fake fake fake. But that was the safest play for now. Until he knew more. Until he was stronger. Or until something changed.

In the end, it was the third of those possibilities. Ostaros had witnessed the weight of Prowl’s conscience wearing him down. Sensed something was about to happen. And so he was not surprised when he saw the monster armor crash through the lab one day. Did nothing when the monster armor threw his monster creator through his monstrous Noisemaze creation to a monstrous demise. Did nothing when the monster armor destroyed the lab.

And when the monster armor turned to face him, he forced that stupid half-smile, forced it as hard as he damn well could, hoping to project that stupid harmlessness, hoping against hope that this was not just a ransack, but also a rescue. For a moment, his hope faltered as the monster raised his blaster, the lab burning around them, the air filling with smoke. Still, he smiled. Still, he played harmless…

And then the monster lowered his blaster and shook his head. “Goddammit, I can’t do this.” The monster removed his helmet to reveal a stranger. “You wanna get out of here?”

Ostaros nodded.

“You don’t happen to know how to turn the radiation moat off, do you?”

Ostaros nodded again, walked to a control panel in the corner of the room, and flipped the requisite switches.

The stranger set his blaster down in order to pull a gauge out of a compartment, his other hand appearing to be inoperable. He read the gauge and nodded approvingly. “Good work.” He then gestured to the Noisemaze gate. “Can you turn that off too?”

Ostaros risked letting the stupid half-smile slide to a lopsided grin, flipped two more switches, and breathed an inward sigh of relief as a high-pitched hum cycled down and the nightmare visions behind the gate vanished.

The stranger regarded him for a moment, unfazed by the burning lab crumbling around them. “Something tells me you’re not as dumb as you look.”

Ostaros replied before he realized the words were even in his head. “Something tells me you’re not half the tool Prowl is.” He snapped his mouth shut, suddenly realizing what had just come out of it.

The stranger laughed and shook his head. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.” He seemed to consider for a moment before continuing. “Prowl won’t be, though. I don’t think he’ll kill you himself, but…” He met Ostaros’s gaze. “You’re gonna need to watch your back out there, ok kid?”

Ostaros nodded.

* * *

Ostaros turned to Prowl as the black-and-white bot entered his cell, stupid half-smile in place. Prowl regarded him for a moment, frowning.

“Can you speak?”

“Yes.” Ostaros pitched his voice higher than his natural frequency, softer than his natural tone, aware of the dominance cues he did not wish to send, substituting naiveté instead.

Prowl continued. “Can you tell me what happened to Mesothulas?”

“Yes.”

“Please do so.”

“The other one threw him through the gate.”

“The… other one?”

“The one with the gold helmet.”

Prowl nodded. “Tell me what happened to the lab. The place where you were created.”

“The other one smashed everything. Set it on fire.”  

“Why did he do that?”

 _Well, let’s see. You’ve had nothing but disagreements with Mesothulas for the last five weeks because you can’t take it anymore. The merc you sent was wearing your radiation armor. The fact that you ordered him to do it is blindingly obvious, but it’s also blindingly obvious that you think I’m an idiot, so I’ll just play along_. “I don’t know.”

Prowl nodded once more, turning to leave. “Very well.” Not _thank you_. Not _I’m sorry I destroyed your home_. Not _where do you go from here?_ No indication whatsoever that Prowl recognized Ostaros as a real, living individual.

Fine, then. He’d had his chance.

Prowl had his back completely turned. Ostaros leaped, connected with the back of Prowl’s head and smashed his face into the bulkhead, then threw him to the floor. Prowl blindly pawed at the air, clearly taken by surprise. Ostaros wasted little time, kneeling to the floor and threading his hands around Prowl’s throat.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t snap your neck right now.” He let his voice fall to its natural octave, let its natural edge return. All those people Prowl killed on Carpessa. A neutral city of innocent people. Just to goad their loved ones into war. Just to kill more people.

And yet, maddeningly, Prowl remained calm. “Because you won’t get far as a murderer.”

“Seems to work well enough for you.” Ostaros found himself unable to keep the tremor out of his voice, unable to keep himself from shaking with rage and fear.

“You have nothing else to your name. Go out there on your own, an undocumented protoform, my blood on your hands. See how far you get.”

“Maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe stopping you from orchestrating the murders of thousands of others at a time is enough.”

A small chuckle managed to escape Prowl’s throat despite being nearly closed off by Ostaros’s hands. “You think I’m the only one? You think the war will stop just because I’m not in it? The world is much bigger than just you and me.”

“Fine.” Still, his hands tightened around Prowl’s throat. “Put me out there. Give me a history. Guy like you should be able to do that. Didn’t think I was listening at all back there, did you? Didn’t think I knew about all the strings you pull out here. But I heard everything. I heard about the triple changer program. Put me in it.”

Prowl almost laughed. “You want to go directly from a protoform to a triple changer? Do you have any idea what that will do to your sensor array?”

The grip tightened even more. “Something tells me I’ll be able to handle it. Something tells me you know that already.”

“Your core drive will get re-formatted. You’ll lose all of your memories, including this conversation. You’ll forget all about me.”

Ostaros’s optics narrowed. “Then I’m no longer a liability for you. You’ll win again.”

“Your options are limited. That’s the best deal you’re going to get.” _And I’ll be damned if I underestimate you ever again. You’re an over-clocked bastard now, and that’s not going to change. Lucky for you I have plenty of uses for over-clocked bastards._

Finally, Ostaros relaxed his grip and stood up from the floor. “Fine.” _But something tells me we’ll cross paths again. I think I’ll figure you out again. And when I do, I swear I’ll take you down. I swear you’ll pay for your sins._

* * *

Darkness.

Silence.

A pinpoint of light.

Pinpricks in his fingertips heralding the receding of numbness, sweeping over his body, followed by the crippling ache of re-activating transmitters.

Moaning.

When the pain finally abated, the moaning stopped, and he recognized it as his own.

The pinpoint of light grew, rapidly widening in a white, blinding flash, then faded to a normal balance.

A black and white ‘bot was standing before him.

“Who are you?”

The black and white ‘bot looked up from the data pad he was reading. “My name is Prowl.”

“Who am I?”

Prowl looked down again at his data pad. “Your name is Springer. You apparently have excellent leaping ability. Your specifications should be loading now.”

Indeed, specs and diagrams began to scroll in the foreground of his HUD. “Yep, getting them now.”

“Do you remember anything?” Prowl asked.

Springer paused for a moment, querying his directories. “Nope. Drawing a blank. What’s to remember?”

“Nothing. Your memory was wiped as a side-effect of the reformat.”

Springer frowned. “How much did I lose? Can I get it back?”

Prowl shook his head. “You are being given a clean slate on purpose. Your previous life was… checkered, to say the least. Long string of misdemeanors, but nothing violent. You got wrapped up with the wrong crowd and were finally caught on a felony. You testified against them. In exchange, you have been provided a new identity. I am the only one who knows both your current and past identities. Your memory was wiped for your own protection. As compensation, you were enrolled in the triple-changer program. Your physical and psychological specifications are far above average. You were given your choice of assignments before your reformat. You chose to serve on Ultra Magnus’s security team.” Prowl handed him the data pad. “You have today to download and assimilate all relevant historical data and acclimate to your new form. Practice driving on secondary roads with your installed training program. You will report for road licensure tomorrow morning. Following that, report to Ultra Magnus for your assignment. Your evenings will be devoted to flight school until you earn your rotary license. What you do after that point is up to you. Your housing assignment is on the pad, along with an account number with a small allowance to get you started. Do you have any questions?”

Springer looked up from the data pad, gaze lingering on the face before him. Had he seen it before? Was its owner really telling him everything he needed to know? Really, there was no way of telling. Denied his past, moving on to the future was his only choice.

“Nah. I’ll get it figured out.”


	2. Hard Truths

Abandoned.

The Noisemaze continued to collapse around him. Not as crushing as it was before, but… it was going to suck.

He had no other choice but to search for a way out.

He kept tripping over bodies. He could almost recognize them. Where had they come from? They must be hallucinations. He _hoped_ they were hallucinations. He continued on.

Goddammit, they really had left him behind, hadn’t they?

He continued on.

Five minutes. An hour. A year. An eternity. He had no idea.

He continued on.

A black and white figure framed by a gate. Reaching for him.

Face down on the floor of Debris’ cargo hold.

The floor was blessedly cool against his face. Blessedly solid. He slid his hands along it, not caring about his inability to contain the moan that escaped him, the homesick sound ringing harshly in his own audios.

“Springer?” Kup’s voice above him. “You with us?”

“More or less.”

“Want help getting back up?”

“I… can’t remember the last time I stood up.” The words were exhausted against the floor.

“Clear the deck.” Impactor’s voice. Compliant footsteps followed.

Soft clanking as Kup sat down on the floor with him. “Take all the time you need, lad. We’re just glad you’re back.”

“Muh…”

* * *

Several hours passed before Springer could finally gather the strength to roll over onto his back and find Kup still sitting with him.

“How long have I been out?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Verity make it out?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Worried sick about you, but fine. And remarkably recovered.”

“Yeah, Tarantulas messed with her. Fixed her in the process, though.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Kup was silent for several moments, optics shining softly in the dimness of the cargo hold. “I heard about a few other things, too. That Tarantulas guy look familiar to you at all?”

Springer risked shaking his head, mildly surprised to find that the motion didn’t hurt. “Nope. I’d definitely remember someone that ugly if I’d seen him before.”

“Any ideas on how you survived that blast?”

“Not sure. Tarantulas kicked me up out of the chamber at one point. Last thing I remember was being hilt-deep through his armor and hanging on with everything I had. Pretty sure he didn’t get a chance to kick me out again, but maybe... I dunno.”

“Springer…” Kup paused for an even longer several moments, unsure of how to proceed. The uncharacteristic stillness gained Springer’s full attention, even from his position on the floor.

“What is it, Kup?”

The old mech considered his protégé carefully, took a breath, and finally plunged ahead. “I remember the day Prowl brought you to me. Your first day of training. He told me that you were freshly forged the day before.”

Springer laughed. “That was a lie. I was a reformatted reprobate.”

“That was a lie, too.”

“What?”

“You weren’t a reprobate. You weren’t forged. Hell, you weren’t even constructed cold.”

Springer met Kup’s optics for a long time before he replied. “I’m confused.”

“Does the name ‘Mesothulas’ mean anything to you? Maybe ‘Ostaros?’”

“No…” Springer paused, his optics seeming to lose focus. “Wait…” He brought a hand to his optics, covering them. “Oh, god…” A long pause as long-hidden memories suddenly unlocked and decompressed. “Oh… god…”

“Springer…”

* * *

I’m not even real.

_I’m not even real._

_I lost my own goddamn face._

Who am I, really? _What am I?_

I’m a _fake_. Created by _monsters_.

Different, sure. Extra alt mode. Flying Autobot. Whatever.

I didn’t know. How could I not know what I was? What I _wasn’t_?

Shot in the back by my own idol. Lied to by the bots I trusted. Almost euthanized by the one I couldn’t trust. Maybe, deep down, they all knew. Knew what I was. Knew what I deserved.

And the one who _did_ know? Strung me along. Dogged me at every turn.

Did he hate me for what I thought I was, or what I really was?

I’ve only ever wanted to make the evil stop. Whatever it took. Just _make it fucking stop_. I _failed_. _Every_ time. Can’t stop evil when I was _spawned_ from it to begin with. The trails of bodies in the wakes of my heroes laugh and scream at me in my nightmares.

The hand, against the red sky, coming to hollow me out again.

But I was already empty.

_I’m not even real._

* * *

“I’m not even real…” The triple-changer’s voice was thin and far-away, lost in a past denied to him for so long.

Kup took Springer’s other hand in his own, saddened by the lack of returned grip. “You’re more real than the rest of us could ever dream to be.”

Springer’s voice continued for several minutes, low and quiet until he finally heaved a shaken sigh. “Goddammit.”

“I’m guessing you just had a moment of clarity?”

“A moment of something.”

“Explains a lot though, don’t you think?”

Finally, Springer hauled himself up to a seated position, determined to make sense of things. “How, exactly, does this answer more questions than it raises?”

Kup spared him a brief smile. “I suppose it’d be hard for you to get outside your own head on this. See yourself against everything else. But I always knew you were different. I just didn’t know _how_ different.”

Springer continued to stare at him, uncomprehending.

“You were the first triple changer,” Kup continued. “They really didn’t know how well the process would work, if it would work at all. All I knew was the official story; that they didn’t want to risk an existing protoform to be the first subject, so they picked one of the strongest sparks they could find. Not quite a point-one-percenter; they didn’t want to risk losing one. They chose you.”

“Not sure ‘chose’ is the right answer. I…” Springer paused and Kup watched as Springer’s memories continued to return. “I had Prowl dead to rights when I demanded to be in the program.”

Kup allowed himself a small chuckle. “He knew it would wipe your core. He probably didn’t expect you to survive it. Hell, I can’t believe he didn’t just sabotage it and get you out of the way entirely.”

Springer shook his head. “Prowl knew everything there was to know about me. He had a pretty good idea I’d pull through. The triple changer program was his new tool; all he needed was some idiot to wear it and I stepped right up.”

“Give yourself more credit, lad,” Kup said. “He might have played you a few times, but you cut the strings more often than not. Me on the other hand…” he tapped his own head with a finger, leaving the rest unsaid.

Springer frowned. “When he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble of controlling, he took the direct route with you. God, I delivered you right to him…”

“Ok, that’s enough.” Kup hauled himself off the floor and offered Springer a hand up. “I won’t let you sit around blaming yourself all day. That damned guilt extractor did a number on you. Come on,” he turned and led the way out of the cargo bay. “Let’s get you patched up.”

* * *

“Can you help her?”

First Aid scrolled through the file Springer had sent him. “Maybe… The physical stuff will be easy. It’s more the psychological identity and subtle kinetics I’m worried about. Those are programming issues that are more Perceptor’s wheelhouse – maybe even Chromedome. If her old drivers are still in place, he might be able to roll her back to those. Even if they’re not, Jiaxus’s methods were incredibly advanced, but he was good about recording everything. I bet we can dig up his records somewhere.” He looked back up at Springer’s image in the monitor. “I’m willing to give it a shot, but I can’t make any promises.”

Springer nodded. “That’s all I can ask. Thanks Aid. Add this to my tab of IOUs.”

First Aid smiled. “It’s the least I can do.” Then, just as the triple changer reached to sign off, “I’m glad you’re back, Springer.”

The leader of the Wreckers seemed to consider the words for a moment before responding. “Me too.”

* * *

He found Arcee on the observation deck, staring out into the void of space. He stood quietly for an instant, suddenly realizing the words he’d prepared for this moment seemed entirely inadequate.

Ignoring the bright green reflection in the glass was difficult, so she finally turned her focus on it. “Are you going to stand there all day or are you coming in?”

Springer gave her half of a smile as he took his time closing the distance to the spot next to her by the window. “I just got off the line with First Aid.”

“Should I know who that is?”

“An old medic friend. Got promoted to Surgeon while I was out.”

“Good for him.”

“He said he might be able to reverse what Jiaxus did to you. Get you back to your original form. If you want. No promises, but he’s willing to try if you are.”

Arcee was quiet for a long time. Springer waited patiently, knowing that he could only have the vaguest of ideas about what was going on in her mind.

“I’ve been this way for so long…” Her gaze hadn’t shifted from her thousand-mile stare, but her voice was low and thin. “It never even occurred to me to hope for this kind of possibility. I’ve… gotten so used to it… to this…”

“There’s no rush. Perceptor and Chromedome would probably be part of the team, too. They’re all on the Lost Light, so… y’know…” He shrugged.

“That’s a lot of strings to pull.” Still, she kept her optics focused through the window.

“Having friends is helpful. You might want to try it sometime.”

Finally, she turned to face him. “Why would you do this for me?”

_Because it’s my fault you’re like this. I was the first step to spark extraction. If you hadn’t gotten extracted at G9, maybe things would be different for you…_

“Springer?”

His head gave a short tick and his optics snapped back into focus. “You’re not the first person I’ve worked with who’s had body dysphoria. Some want to get fixed, others have lived with it for so long that being broken has become part of their identity and they can’t imagine getting past it. Either way, ‘bots who are comfortable in their own armor are more effective than those who aren’t. You of all people deserve a fair shot at that.”

She tilted her head, wondering at his sudden drift from reality and his equally sudden return to it as if nothing had happened. She decided to ignore it for now. “That’s… a damn near anti-functionist statement. Never thought I’d hear it from a triple changer.”

He shrugged again. “I wormed my way into a place of privilege. I try not to take it for granted.”

* * *

“Kup… just… stop, ok?” Springer’s voice had taken an uncharacteristically pleading tone, and Kup was in no mood for it.

Kup couldn’t bring himself to face the triple changer, so he shouted at thin air instead. “Their blood is on my hands! You weren’t the one who killed them! I was! Every damned one of them.”

“No… Kup. Listen…” Springer paused to gather himself for what he had to say, questioning his own wisdom in bringing this up in the first place. “I was the one who ordered them down there. I knew they were dying, but I kept ordering more. I was too impatient to wait for Trailbreaker. I might as well have just put my own blaster to their heads and killed them myself. Their deaths are on me. Not you.”

Kup half-turned. “What did Trailbreaker have to do with this?”

“He was the one who saved you. Not me. He just went in and put you in a bubble. Your core _detonated_ , and he handled it like it was _nothing_.”

“You knew he was on his way to Tsiehshi and you kept sending ‘bots down to me.”

Springer bowed his head under the shame he’d carried for all those years. All those lives. All those deaths that didn’t have to happen. “Yeah. I did.” His voice cracked over the words.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Kup hauled off and threw a punch at his protégé.

Springer wasn’t expecting it, and it caught him squarely on the jaw. He reeled back a couple of steps before regaining his balance. He brought a hand to the side of his head, but didn’t bring his optics to meet Kup’s. Still, somehow the pain in his face took away a little from the pain of his guilt.

“Throwin’ good resources after bad is one thing,” Kup continued. “But doin’ that when you know the real solution is on the way… That’s not what I taught you. What were you thinking?”

Springer shook his head. “I wasn’t. I just… couldn’t _not_ do anything, and I didn’t have the bearings to go down there myself. I wasted lives. I don’t have any excuses for you. I just… mostly I wanted you to know it wasn’t me who saved you. Not really. It was Trailbreaker.”

Kup continued to look at his feet, Springer’s words opening up a whole other can of nuts and bolts to deal with. “As long as we’re bein’ honest with each other here…” He looked up and met Springer’s gaze, wondering if his next words would hurt more than the punch he’d just thrown. “I’m not telling you this to punish you. I’m telling you this because I’m the one you should hear it from.”

Springer’s expression fell just the smallest bit, as if asking what else could possibly top what had happened so far.

“Trailbreaker’s dead.”

Springer’s optics seemed to lose focus. “What happened?”

“DJD killed him.”

_Of all the goddamn ironies._

“Any one in particular or was it a team effort?” Springer asked.

“Of all the inexplicable things, Trailbreaker saved Vos’s life. Then Kaon killed him.”

_Of all the goddamn fucking ironies._

“Trailbreaker deserved better than that.” The rasp in Springer’s voice was shot through with barely suppressed rage, but his optics still remained distant and unfocused.

Kup let out a long sigh, recalling all of the recommendations Springer had issued for the force field-projecting Outlier, all of the frustration Springer had expressed when those recommendations had been ignored. Kup cursed himself for his own blindness. Springer was never one to issue praise lightly, and had seen past the mech’s problems, had seen the real ‘bot behind the shield and the drinking problems. No one else had noticed until it was too late. “For what it’s worth, he was interred with full honors.”

Springer’s helm made a short, quick tick to the side, and the focus returned to his optics. “Anything else I need to know?”

“A lot can happen in five years.”

“Anything that tops Megatron being given joint command of an Autobot exploration ship and running around with the red badge on his chest?”

“Maybe you’ve had enough for one day.”

“I’m off this boat when we hit Earth orbit tomorrow. I’m downloading everything tonight. Whatever it is, I can assimilate it myself or I can hear it from you first, like you just said yourself.”

Kup gathered himself for one last bombshell. “Overlord was on the Lost Light. As a prisoner. Things went bad, he escaped, killed a bunch of people. They managed to eject him out into space and shot him with the Lost Light’s cannons. He’s… probably dead, but…”

“But no one really knows, do they?” Springer cut in. “No matter what, the odds are always in his favor.” Rage was creeping back into his voice. “What in the name of Primus was he doing on that ship?”

Kup couldn’t help but notice that Springer was finally fully engaged for the first time since Prowl had hauled him back aboard Debris. Sure, his optics were blazing and he looked about ready to go on a murderous rampage, but at least he was finally dialed all the way up. He didn’t know if this was a good or a bad thing, but he owed it to Springer to tell him what was up. “Long story short, Prowl wanted to interrogate him to get answers on Phase Sixer tech. Chromedome was the only one who could do it and he’d signed up for the Lost Light mission. So Prowl had Overlord secretly loaded up as a prisoner until which point Chromedome could be convinced to do the interrogation.”

“It always comes back to Prowl, doesn’t it?” Springer turned to leave the room.

“Don’t do anything rash, lad.”

Springer paused. “I won’t break any more promises to you, Kup. So I won’t promise anything right now.”

* * *

Impactor caught up to Springer in the corridor. “Where you headed?”

“Does it matter?”

The ice in Springer’s voice was enough to send a chill through Impactor’s frame. In years past, his Little Green Circuit Booster could be counted on to keep himself on an even keel. Now, Impactor could almost feel the moral compass of the ‘bot before him spinning uncontrollably, and the sensation was unnerving. “It matters if you’re headed for Prowl.”

“Kup tell you to keep an eye on me?”

“I just want to keep you from making any mistakes.”

Springer’s pace did not slow. “I’m not going to make any mistakes. I’m just going to shred Prowl into a _big_ pile of _tiny_ scraps.”

“Yeah, see, that’s the kind of thing that usually gets reclassified as a ‘mistake’ later on.”

Faster than he would have ever thought possible, Impactor found himself pinned against the bulkhead, Springer’s saber at his throat, Springer’s optics blazing into his own. “Are. You. Slagging. Kidding. Me.”

Yep, Little Green Circuit Booster was definitely gone. Or shorted the hell out. “You don’t want to do this.”

The flat of Springer’s saber pressed even harder against his throat, but Impactor could not detect a trace of a tremor. Nothing but pure, cold murder burned in the optics before him.

“You killed Guzzle. You killed Hubcap. You slagging _shot me in the back_.” A short pause as Springer’s head tilted to the side. “ _You’re_ telling _me_ to stand down?”

“You’re better than this,” Impactor stated simply.

“You sure about that?”

“I know what makes you tick. You’d never forgive yourself. You couldn’t even forgive yourself for ratting me out. Killing Prowl? You’d never come back from that.”

“Maybe not. But maybe everyone who’s died for what he’s done will rest easier. Maybe the lives of everyone else that are spared when they would otherwise get in his way will be worth it.”

“Prowl’s past and future victims do deserve better, and maybe he deserves to die. But you don’t have the right to kill him.”

Springer’s optics narrowed to a frown. “You son of a glitch…” He pushed off of Impactor and swung his saber. Impactor deflected the blow with his harpoon, but not before it was severed from his wrist. Springer struck again, the saber burying itself in Impactor’s arm. The old Wrecker leader got a foot between himself and the new Wrecker leader, pushing him off and pulling his arm free. He made no further move to escape, knowing that if Springer had meant to kill him, he’d have done it with the first move, stabbing instead of swinging. If using Springer’s own words against him was what it took to blow the pressure valve and divert him from Prowl, so be it.

“Are you done?”

“Fuck you,” Springer spat. Then he did impale the saber, choosing the bulkhead instead of the head of his former commander. He turned away, running his right hand along the cowling of his helm. “Son of a glitch…” Quieter, this time.

Impactor watched as Springer, back turned, looked at his hands, shaking. He really _was_ done. “Go find your peace, kid. You’ve earned it. Others will take care of Prowl.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“Better if you didn’t know.”

Springer turned half-way, just enough so that Impactor could catch the edge of his optic. The blaze was gone, replaced again by hesitancy. Impactor didn’t know if it was better to feel sad about Springer’s deterioration or glad that he was finally getting out of all this Wrecker business, at least for now.

Had he made the right choice in bringing Springer on? Things like mission success rates and fatality rates were all over the board; incomparable when the circumstances varied so widely between different leader eras. One thing was for sure: loyalty had never been higher than it had been under Springer, and that had to count for something. He always did the best he could with what he had, always tried to be better than he was, always tried to inspire the same in others. Even when it meant making the tough calls. Even when it meant cutting away the chaff. Even when it meant throwing himself against impossible odds. The kid got it done.

So, yeah. When everything was said and done, Impactor thought he’d made the right choice. Now it was time to convince the kid he’d made the right decision to get out.

“You’ve done all you can. You’re a good person. You walked the fine line between good and bad longer than most and managed to _stay_ a good person. Get out now while you’re still on the right side of things. Get out now before you become the enemy.”

_Get out now before I become you? Or Prowl?_ Springer bit it back; he’d punished Impactor enough today. Hell, he’d punished him enough for a lifetime. He chose a different direction. “I know you’re the one who saved me from Mesothulas.”

“Yeah. Kup told me about your recall.”

“Did you know who I was? This whole time?”

“Prowl never told me explicitly. But when the first Autobot triple changer showed up the day after I brought in a synth prototype developed by an evil mastermind… I’m no genius, but that was pretty easy to add up.”

Springer nodded, half-turned, still not facing Impactor. “Thanks for not killing me.”

“Yeah, well… you’re welcome. One of my better decisions.” Impactor turned, grasped the handle of Springer’s saber, and pulled it out of the bulkhead. Turning it so the hilt faced its owner, he offered it back to Springer. “You gonna’ behave?”

Springer’s only response was to take the saber and sheathe it in its place on his back. He turned, picked the severed harpoon up off of the floor, and offered it to Impactor. “I’ll walk you to medbay.”

* * *

Kup handed Verity her backpack. “Keep an eye on him, ok kid?”

She frowned. “I’m so used to him being the one protecting me…”

“Now’s your turn to return the favor.”

She shouldered the pack. “You’re right. Is there anything in particular I should watch for? He’s already so different from before…”

“Damned if I know,” Kup said. “Actually, yeah. He had a pretty strong reaction back when they hooked him up to Aquitas. If his reaction to this guilt extractor is anywhere near… if he gets to blamin’ himself too much… I dunno.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I packed First Aid’s com frequency in your bag and told him you’d call if anything came up. He’s up to speed on everything, so no worries about privileged information. With _him_.”

“I understand.”

They both turned at the sound of Springer’s steps on the hangar deck. Kup straightened up and regarded the triple changer. “Of all the places you could escape to on Earth, you two chose a goddamn frozen wasteland.”

Springer shrugged. “Low population density. Low parasite load. Easy access to fuel. Perfect getaway.”

Kup pointed to Verity. “Where is she going to get vegetables? Ultra Magnus told me she needs vegetables and they don’t have any where you’re going!”

“I pulled a few strings.” Springer produced a credit card from subspace with the letters VISA printed on it. “It’s everywhere I want to be, apparently.”

Kup crossed his arms. “You always have an answer for everything.”

Springer smiled the old smile. “Just like you taught me.” He lightly tapped his mentor on the shoulder with a fist.

Kup reached out for the taller mech and embraced him. “Stay outta’ trouble, ok kid?”

Springer returned the hold. “You too, old man.” _Anything about me that was ever any good… any good that might be left in me… it’s because of you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be better… couldn’t protect you from him…_

Springer turned to Verity. “You ready?”

She tightened the straps on her pack. “Yep.”

He transformed to his ground mode, opening the passenger’s side door for her. She gave Kup one last wave goodbye and hopped in, glad to find the cabin already warmed up.

The hangar door lowered, opening into the dead of the Alaska night, and Springer headed into it, lead by his headlights cutting blazing trails through the snow.


End file.
